


If Walls Could Talk

by kosmickway (KMDWriterGrl)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KMDWriterGrl/pseuds/kosmickway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a “between the scenes” take on “Resolutions”—in other words, what was hinted at or implied on screen that we never got to see, such as Chakotay presenting Janeway with the bathtub and what happened AFTER that fateful Angry Warrior speech.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Walls Could Talk

**Author's Note:**

> I use the actual dialogue from the show where appropriate but obviously the bulk of what I’ve written here is mine. Credit for the episode goes to the insightful and talented Jeri Taylor … I’m in no way trying to infringe on her territory … just wanted to take her characters out for a stroll. 
> 
> The title comes from Celine Dion's much overlooked song "If Walls Could Talk." (Yes, I like Celine. Be quiet.)

_“When I’m feeling weak, you give me wings. When the fire has no heat, you light it up again. When I hear no violins, you play my every string…” –Celine Dion, “If Walls Could Talk.”_

**JANEWAY:**

For all the warmth of the sun-dappled meadow Kathryn Janeway felt cold and hollow inside. It wasn’t simply because she was now a captain with nothing to command—though that was the most obvious and justifiable reason for feeling as if someone had locked a transporter onto her internal organs and beamed them out of her body. Nor was it a reoccurrence of the viral infection that was causing the sick feeling in her belly, though if it were the latter perhaps she wouldn’t have felt guilty for paying so much attention to the uneasy feeling spreading through her body. No, it was because of the mind-numbing realization that she was standing on the grass of the last place she would ever call home with the last human she would ever come into contact with while her second home warped off without her.

Granted, the grass of this new home was lush and beautiful. Granted, her companion was handsome, charming, and intelligent. Granted, they wanted for nothing—they had a shelter, a replicator, their mementos and clothing from their quarters on Voyager, and even a shuttlecraft. Nonetheless, she felt as though she’d been doused with ice water and had to fight the impulse to shiver.

She glanced at the half completed modular shelter that glinted silver grey in the cheerful light and turned to walk inside, hoping it wouldn’t look as barren and ugly as it had just a few moments prior when, unable to stand working inside it for one more moment, she ran out into the clearing at the edge of the woods where she and Chakotay had established their camp.

She was disappointed. It WAS that barren and ugly. She cursed Starfleet for choosing a design that was based on functionality rather than aesthetics then cursed HERSELF for being so silly. Of course the shelter was designed to be functional—it was meant to be for short-term use only. The hapless engineer who designed it had never once considered that the boxy structure might one day serve as the last place someone would ever see in their lifetime.

Their little gray box was spare, two rooms only. The large front room would have to be divided in two– one half would serve as their kitchen and work space, the second half would be sliced down to quarter sections to become bedrooms for herself and Chakotay. They would need to be sectioned off with screens to give at least the illusion of privacy. The second room was smaller, almost an afterthought, and held the bathroom (complete with sonic shower) and their storage area. Their quarters on _Voyager_ singly had been larger.  

Idly she ran her hand over her computer equipment and science paraphernalia. They didn’t hold her interest. Her personal mementos, gathered by Tuvok from her quarters on _Voyager,_ awaited a home in her alcove but these too were minor distractions. Restless, she paced outside the shelter then back inside, unable to settle down to read or research, tired of setting up shelves and beds and tables, wishing as strongly as she’d ever wished for anything that she were back aboard Voyager.

Janeway wandered in a slow circuit around the meadow and meandered part of the way into the stand of trees nearest the shelter. They would map the woods more thoroughly later, once their shelter was fully furnished and functional. In the 12 hours they had been on New Earth (Chakotay’s optimistic name, not hers) they had concerned themselves primarily with building the shelter, digging a well, laying down plumbing and pipes, and determining what, if anything, in the woods was edible in case anything ever happened to their replicator. Before she could make another circuit, she heard Chakotay’s steps drawing close.

He appeared from out of the woods, tools in hand. He looked so much at home that Janeway felt a sudden surge of irritation. How could he look so comfortable? Why wasn’t he as miserable as she was? He stopped when he saw her, apparently sensing her mood, and offered a crooked half smile.

“Would you like to talk? Or would I risk having my head bitten off?”

Janeway knew her laugh was brittle but couldn’t inject any humor into her voice. “Do I look that upset?”

“Let’s just say you look as though you’d be more comfortable wrestling Sarcassian razor-dogs than being here.”

“Perceptive as usual.”

“It’s one thing I’m really good at.” He set his tools down and settled onto the grass under a tree. “So, I’ll ask again. Would you like to talk?”

Janeway shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Kathryn--” This was the first time he’d used her first name to address her. It was foreign to her ears and seemed to be just as much so on his tongue. “I know this is uncomfortable for you but I think you’ll really start to like it. The woods are beautiful and--” He trailed off and awkwardly ran a hand through his hair as he realized he was fighting a losing battle. “Well, it might take some getting used to.”

The least she could do was offer a little appreciation for his attempt to cheer her up. “Oh, I know. I’m just a bit moody right now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he replied. “Don’t _ever_ be sorry.”

 

**CHAKOTAY:** **  
**

He cooked their dinner that night, his first attempt at using the camp stove and the dutch oven, and they ate outside, watching night rush in on their little clearing. Janeway picked at her food and stared pensively at things he couldn’t see, alone in places he couldn’t reach. She perked up noticeably when Tuvok contacted them to check on their status. But once again she lapsed into silence, retiring early to her alcove while Chakotay toyed with metalwork in the kitchen. Through the screen of her alcove he could barely make out her seated form, slender hands idly flipping the pages of a book. She switched off her light several minutes later but it was a long time before she fell asleep, restless and agitated as she tossed in her bed.

Life on New Earth improved steadily after that first night. Janeway distracted herself with her medical and biological studies, reveling in scientific ecstasy for hours on end as she stared at insect specimens. She broke down their physiology into protein co-factors and a thousand other things Chakotay couldn’t even imagine spending hours researching without his eyes starting to cross. He, in turn, spent hours in the woods, giving her as much space as she wanted, trying not to overwhelm her with his constant presence. He returned to the shelter only for meals and to retrieve tools.

When they were together in the shelter or outside, they chatted freely, though, at first, rarely on matters of personal consequence. But by the end of their second week on New Earth she had loosened up to the point where she would occasionally drop a personal anecdote here and there about life in Indiana, about constantly sparring with her sister, Phoebe, about trips she had taken. He even managed to get her to laugh a time or two, something he had started to think was impossible.

One night he came back to their shelter for dinner to find Kathryn looking frustrated and tense after a day that had, apparently, been particularly fruitless for research. She stabbed at the computer with one hand as if she hated it while she rubbed fiercely at the base of her skull with the other. He set to cooking for them, mind whirring away at the “cheer up” scheme he would put into play after dinner.

“I think it’s time,” he announced while she was silently clearing the plates from dinner.

“Time for what?” she asked absently.

“To show you what I’ve been building in the woods.”

She turned with a small smile, curiosity piqued.

“Oh, really?”

“I can’t bring it to you though. You’ll have to go to it.” He tossed her a wrist beacon.

She caught it and fastened it on her wrist, her face lighting at the prospect of something new and interesting.

“Do I get hints?”

Chakotay laughed as they started walking. “Why do you want hints? You’ll see it soon enough.”

“The best part of surprises is guessing what it might be! I’ll ask a question and you answer, all right? Is it bigger than a bread box?”

“Oh, yes. Much bigger.”

“Is it smaller than a warp core?”

Chakotay laughed heartily. “Smaller.”

“Is it decorative or functional?”

“I’d say it’s a little bit of both.”

“Is it something we need for the shelter?”

“We don’t _need it_ but I think you’ll enjoy having it.” He stopped just short of the clearing and pulled Janeway to a stop as well. “You have to close your eyes.”

“All right.” She grinned at him. “You mean you didn’t bring a blindfold?”

“Do I need one? Keep your eyes closed now.”

“I can’t see where I’m going,” she protested mildly.

“I’ll guide you.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and led her gently forward into the clearing. “Now wait while I turn on my work lights … all right, open your eyes.”

Janeway opened her eyes and was, for a moment, utterly speechless. “Is that—a bathtub?! Chakotay, did you build me a bathtub?”

He _had_. He’d built her a 6 foot long bathtub out of wood that was nearly the color of mahogany and had lined it in white rubberized compound. It was deep, with a built-in bench and head rest and several jets to help the faucet fill the trim little tub. He’d carved the exterior wood with tree branches, flowers, and twining vines, while the base that held all of the internal pipes and water tanks was carved to look like boulders. The effect was of a rocky pool supporting the tree-like tub.

For long moments Kathryn could only gape, so he finally broke the silence by saying, half jokingly, “bigger than a breadbox, smaller than a warp core, decorative and functional, and something you’ll enjoy having. You couldn’t guess bathtub from that?”

Kathryn turned to stare at him, her eye alight with pleasure and swimming with tears. “I cannot believe you built me a bathtub!” She started toward it but then hesitated, as if she were unsure it was real. “My god! It’s beautiful.”

He delighted in showing it to her and listening to her joyous responses to all of the little extra touches he had added to make the bathtub both functional and beautiful. She enthusiastically helped him carry it back to the clearing just outside the shelter where he had all ready dug the holes for the pipes. She watched with interest as he prepped and then installed the plumbing and finally stood back and dusted off his hands to see if it would work.

“All right, let’s give her a try.” He nodded to the softly glowing blue button that would siphon up the cold water. “Try the cold first.”

She tapped the button and with a gurgle and then a gush, the tub began to fill with cool water. She laughed delightedly and grasped at his arm. “It worked!”

“Now the hot,” he encouraged.

The water began to steam as it hit the cooler water all ready in the tub.

Chakotay knew a moment of visceral pleasure when Janeway threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely as she breathed in his ear, “You wonderful man! Thank you so much!”

Back in the shelter, she gathered a bathrobe, a towel, a book padd, and a clip for her hair. As she was about to step outside, he handed her a small green bottle.

“What’s this?” she asked, unstoppering the bottle. Her eyes widened and her mouth shaped a fond smile when the smell of mint and eucalyptus rose up to greet her. “Bath oil, Chakotay?” You really do think of everything!” She breathed in and her smile grew broader.

“Enjoy yourself,” he said. “I’m here if you need anything.”

“Like someone to scrub my back?” she teased, grinning as his face flushed in what he hoped she’d take as embarrassment but in what he knew was very intense arousal.

“It would be a hardship but I think I could manage,” he replied back, hoping the off-handed remark would prompt her out the door. “Don’t let your water get cold.”

She headed out the door with an excited spring in her step and he sank down into his chair at the kitchen table, hoping that she wouldn’t reappear until he could manage to get himself under control.

His reasons for building her the tub were twofold and he had thought he knew which had been foremost on his mind when he was creating it. And seeing her delight _was_ reward enough … but now the idea of kneeling beside the tub to soap her beautiful pale skin into a froth of bubbles was making him feel something far more than platonic for Kathryn Janeway.

Not now. It wouldn’t do to push her for anything more than the friendship they were continuing to build. They’d have years—decades—to spend on this planet, decades that they could spend in moon-light baths if he let things unfold naturally. Souring a relationship in its very beginning stages by demanding too much too quickly would be catastrophic. He knew she hadn’t given up on finding a way back to Voyager and, by extension, finding a way back home, knew she hadn’t given up on her fiancé, but he also knew he hadn’t been mistaken in the way she’d begun to flirt with him, hadn’t misread the warmth in her eyes when she occasionally caught him staring at her.

He fought an internal battle for the better part of half an hour as he listened to her giggle—he was the only person who knew Kathryn Janeway actually GIGGLED—as she ran the water at various temperatures, tested the jets he’d installed all around the tub (which would alternately make the water bubble, fizz, pulse, or roil, depending on the setting), then settled into the water with a sigh and, alluringly, a soft moan of satisfaction. He wanted— _badly_ wanted-- to step out of their little shelter, wrapped only in a towel, climb into the tub with her, lather his hands with homemade soap and explore every inch of her body.

Patience, he reminded himself. Patience.

“Chakotay, are you there?” she called several minutes later, her voice relaxed.

“No, I left an hour ago,” he called back.

“I was thinking … maybe looking for protein co-factors is the wrong approach, even if I can find a specimen of the insect that’s infected us. I could try looking into the bio-molecular evolution of this planet’s ecosystem.”

He basically understood what she was getting at but because he wasn’t feeling particularly keen on getting into a discussion about science with a woman he was trying very hard not to think about naked, he simply called back, “Can’t hurt to give it a try.”

Seconds later he heard her gasp sharply and yell his name. He was on his feet in an instant and was out the door with a wrist beacon and a phaser before he heard her yell “someone’s in the woods!”

By the time he arrived at her side, she was out of the tub, wrapped in a towel, and pointing to a spot out on the edge of their little clearing that led into the denser forest. He aimed the beacon in the direction where she indicated and then relaxed, grinning, when the light fell on a black and white monkey climbing industriously through the branches, yelling occasionally to unseen friends.

“It looks like some kind of primate!” Janeway whispered, not wanting to scare the creature.

“I’ve detected primate life signs here but I’ve never seen any before now.”

“Are you hungry?” Janeway crooned at the creature. “Is that why you came here?”

The creature continued to climb and call in its shrill voice. Chakotay followed it with the light, marveling at its cunning hands and feet.

“I’m Kathryn. He’s Chakotay. We’ve had to move into your neighborhood, but I hope we can be friends.”

It was endearing to see how pleased she was with the little monkey. Forgetting she was barefoot and clad only in a towel, she took several steps forward toward its tree, but checked herself when the monkey scurried off. She sighed in disappointment.

“Oh, maybe he’ll come back!”

“Looking for a pet?” he teased.

“No, looking for a clue about primate physiology on this planet, they must have to contend with insect bites, too.”

He really noticed then what she was wearing—or not wearing —and hungrily took in the slope of her shoulders and the sweep of her collarbone before he made himself look away from her, his face growing hot and his groin tightening.

She noticed him noticing her and pulled the towel a little tighter around herself, which he took as his cue to disappear into the shelter, leaving her to resume her bath.

He took a deep breath as he put the wrist beacon and the phaser back in their proper places, admonishing himself for letting his obvious hunger for her show when he had been mentally chiding himself to be patient only a half hour before. He had to get himself under better control.

She came sweeping back into the shelter in a buzz of excitement only moments later and sat down at her console, newly invigorated and chattering a mile a minute. After a cursory attempt to convince her yet again to stop working so hard and allow herself some rest, he went back to his project and she to her console, though his gaze never really left her for the rest of the evening.

*******

<I>If walls could talk, they would say I want you more. They’d say I never felt like this before … and that you will always be the one for me.</I>

**JANEWAY:**

Invigorated by the new direction her research had taken—primates! How exciting! —Janeway was up early, determined to check her insect traps and scour the surrounding woods for signs of the monkey and his troop.

Chakotay had risen even earlier and was all ready out in the clearing working on a new project. She watched him through the open door while she ate some toast, really allowing herself to notice the wiry strength in his hands and arms as they worked with the wood. His hands were big– she’d noticed that last night as he’d installed her bathtub in the front yard. His palms were nearly twice the size of hers and his fingers were long and nimble. She had a brief but vivid imagining of how those hands might feel rubbing the curves of her shoulders and cradling the line of her neck and ordered herself to cut it out.

Chakotay glanced up from his work and gave her a smile and a wave. She smiled back, flustered, and lifted her hair from the back of her neck where her skin had suddenly grown unaccountably heated. Sternly jerking herself back to her waiting tasks—insects and monkeys!—she gathered her equipment, took a deep breath, and stepped into the yard.

“I’m off to check the traps in beta-four. What are you up to now?”

“Making head boards.”

“Head boards?

“I noticed you sometimes sit up in your bed to read. Figured you may as well have a comfortable back rest.”

Head boards. My god. What kind of a man became stranded on a lonely planet with his former captain and decided that what he really needed to do with his time was make headboards?

She felt a brief surge of irrational anger then, anger that he was more interested in spending his days making furniture and exploring the woods than in finding a way out of their predicament.

_Calm down_ , she chided herself. _You’re coping by researching a cure; he’s coping the only way he can, too._ _It’s not for you to judge how he handles this_.

_He didn’t lose his ship_ , a mean little voice replied.

_Yes, he did_ , a more reasonable voice said in return. _In fact, he lost two of them—Liberty and Voyager. He has as much right to anger and grief as you do. Are you really going to begrudge him the only way he’s found to cope?_ _And let’s not forget that his carpentry resulted in your bathtub_. _How can you resent a man who made you such a beautiful gift with his own two hands?_

Having put herself in her place, she made herself smile at him.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Chakotay. You’ve done so many things to make our lives easier here.” The response came out sounding stilted and far too formal so she added, self-deprecatingly, “the cooking, for example. I hate to cook.

Intuitive as always, Chakotay picked up on her discomfort. He laid down his tools and crossed to where she had taken a seat on a nearby boulder.

“But what I do makes you uncomfortable. Every time I add a personal touch to the shelter, you resist it.”

Well, if they were going to be forthright and lay all the cards out on the table she may as well respond in kind: “Sometimes it feels as though you’ve given up … that you’ve focused on making a home here instead of finding a cure that will let us leave.”

“I can’t sacrifice the present waiting for a future that may never happen. The reality of this situation is that we may never leave here. So, yes, I’m trying to make a home, something more than a plain grey box.”

His answer, very pragmatic and so imminently Chakotay, rocked her to the core, making her stomach drop and her eyes fill with unexpected tears. Evidently he could tell that this was nothing that she wanted to hear, because he did something he’d not yet done—he took her hand between his own and held it, his fingers playing gently over hers as he looked into her eyes. “I’m not trying to upset you.”

“I know you aren’t.” She bit her lip, fiercely fighting tears. “And some day I may have to let go. But not today, okay?” She rose, determined to at least get into the woods before she gave in to the tears that were threatening.

He released her hand after giving it a final squeeze and searched her face with dark, concerned eyes. She put on the sunniest smile she could and started to walk off, calling over her shoulder, “I tried a new glucose bait in the traps. I have a feeling this might be the day I make a breakthrough.”

She heard him pick up his tools and the sounds of scraping and sawing followed her into the woods.

She let herself cry then. Not much--just enough to ease the tightness in her chest and the burning behind her eyes, enough to keep the pressure valve of her grief from blowing wide open. When she’d had her cry, she resolutely dried her eyes and carried on with her self-assigned task, wandering from tree to tree and checking each insect trap for a specimen that carried the pathogen that had so virulently infected herself and Chakotay.  

At the third tree, she found, to her delight, that the trap had been sprung. She took a look at the trap and found a flying insect, immobilized by the micro-forcefield inside. Grinning triumphantly, she went after it with tweezers, storing it in a container that she stowed inside her field kit, all ready feeling better and brighter than she had only moments before.

The shrill yell of her new primate friend made her look up. There he was, the little black and white scamp from the previous night, perched on a rock at her height, holding his arms out as if he were about to pirouette into a dance, one high over his head, pointing to the sky, the other in the direction of their shelter.

“Hello again. You certainly seem to cover a lot of territory. Or are you following me?”

She moved forward incredibly slowly, hand outstretched with her palm up. He wouldn’t approach her—he was, after all, a wild animal—but she wanted to show that she had no harmful intent.

The monkey held its place, not moving toward her but not moving away from her either. Its hands were still insistently raised and its voice was rising in a shrill yodeling call. Its small black eyes met hers and held.

“Do you understand me?”

The yodeling grew more insistent and the monkey’s eyes bored into her with urgency.

“What is it?” Janeway tore her gaze away and noted with alarm that the wind had picked up and that clouds were scudding across the blackening sky at a frightening pace. “What’s happened to the sky?”

She cursed herself inwardly as she began packing up her kit. She hadn’t been paying attention. Living inside a controlled and contained environment for so long had softened her … she wasn’t used to checking weather conditions, even before away missions—that had always been Kim’s job—and now she was just barely inside the bounds of their explored territory right before what looked to be a major storm.

She jammed the rest of her equipment back into the unwieldy case and got to her feet, struggling against the suddenly gusting wind. “If you’re suggesting I should get out of here, I agree!” she called at the little monkey who, his message delivered, galloped off into the woods.

Careless. She had been careless. There was no way to get around it. She hadn’t checked the weather conditions, she had wandered out in a dress and flat slippers instead of a uniform with sturdy shoes, she hadn’t taken an emergency flare or a phaser with her. She had grown ridiculously negligent since she had arrived here, treating what was still largely an alien planet as if it were some sort of campground. Something was going to have to change. SHE was going to have to change.

She hurried back toward the shelter, scanning with her eyes and ears in lieu of a tricorder. The wind was gusting intensely, much harder than she remembered from storms in Indiana. There was no rain yet, though the black clouds piling up were an indicator that the storm building up would be what her grandfather called “a gully washer.” She picked up her pace, darting through the trees, disoriented in the growing darkness.

The lightning started and when it began its electrical crackling and arcing, it shook everything in the woods. A particularly loud lightning strike nearby shook the ground underneath her and sent her tumbling, disoriented. She grabbed for her case, desperate to keep it and its precious insect cargo near her whatever the cost, and rose to her knees, steadying herself against a nearby tree.

The lightning struck again and the ground heaved. She fell forward, off balance, with a cry of frustration and huddled over the case for a moment as she gathered her strength and reached for the tree a second time, damn well determined by now to get back to the shelter.

“KATHRYN!”

Her name on the wind barely reached her ears. And then, mercifully, Chakotay was there. He went down on one knee beside her and shouted over the roaring wind, “Are you hurt?”

“No! I couldn’t keep my balance and carry the case!” she yelled back, still so angry at herself for coming out into the woods unprepared that her voice was unsteady.

“Give it to me.” He took her precious case in one hand, helped her up with the other, and then firmly fixed his arm around her waist.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s some kind of plasma storm! Our tricorders don’t recognize it but it sure packs a wallop!” He went down to one knee as the ground shook beneath them, dragging her down with him, but his arm stayed tight around her and the case remained in his hand.

They struggled back through the woods toward their little shelter. Janeway had never been so happy to see their little gray box as she was at that moment. They darted in through the doorway … but quickly found there would be little solace from the storm. Their shelter had never been designed to withstand the kind of weather they were seeing now—the wind was finding its way in through the walls and roof and buffeting the rooms.

Chakotay made a split second decision and pulled her underneath the kitchen table, the only piece of furniture in their main room that was bolted down.

 “Under here! It’s too dangerous to be out in the open in the middle of this.”

They had to lie down on the floor beside each other because the table was too low to permit kneeling or sitting up. As the wind continued to howl and tear around the room, shelves came clattering off the walls. Chakotay’s sand artwork smashed to nothingness on the floor. Pots and pans and cups flew off the table. Janeway held her hands up to guard against the suddenly airborne objects. She flinched back when a cup bounced off the floor and directly into her face, catching her across the cheekbone. Chakotay knocked away a second cup and two plates.

 The rest of the objects on the table crashed to the floor. To Janeway’s horror and dismay, those objects happened to be her computer, her protein analyzer, and the delicate DNA sequencer she had been using the previous night and hadn’t put away—yet another habit that had fallen by the wayside during their time here.

She yelled and lunged forward, determined to grab her equipment. Chakotay’s arms came around her to restrain her movement. She jerked, twisted, but knew there was no point to it—his arms were too strong and the equipment was all ready beyond repair.

She met his eyes—his were sympathetic and hers, she knew, were anguished—and moaned in despair before dropping her head into her hands. He pulled her closer, held her hard, patting her arms in a futile gesture of comfort.

 How long they remained that way was anyone’s guess. She lost time as the storm raged on and on. Chakotay still held her, though he’d relaxed his grip enough that she could have moved out of his arms if she wanted to. The fact of the matter was that she didn’t want to—she found herself thinking dully that she never wanted to move again, not really, not if it was going to feel as horrible as the moment when she knew with certainty that without her tools and her research they would never find a way off the planet and back to _Voyager_.    

  **CHAKOTAY:**

By the time the storm was over, he knew beyond a doubt that Kathryn was going to have to do the letting go they’d been talking about, whether she wanted to or not. Her equipment was broken beyond all repair. He could see from where he was lying on the floor, his arms around her, that the DNA sequencer had snapped in two and the computer’s screen was irreparably smashed. She realized it too because the look on her face was one of utter despair.

It took an hour or more for the storm to quiet and when it finally did they crawled out from under the table to assess the damage to the shelter. It looked bleak. Her equipment was badly broken and a lot of the shelving would need to be repaired. Foodstuffs were scattered on the floor, along with his art supplies, his tools, and their phasers, wrist beacons, and other items from Voyager.

 “Let’s check outside. Maybe some of the insect traps are still intact.”

 It looked hopeless outside as well. There were tree limbs, big and small, scattered all over the yard. Several of the larger ones had landed on the roof, causing considerable damage. Janeway’s bathtub was, thank God, still intact (he didn’t think he could bear to look at her face if she’d lost that as well as everything else) although it was covered in leaves and mud and filled with standing water.

She knelt to examine the traps—or the pieces of them now—scattered by the door to the shelter and he saw her back heave with a silent sob before she straightened and said in a very tight voice, “None of this is salvageable either. There’s no way I can continue to do my research.”

She stood up and brushed her hands briskly against the skirt of her dress, which had grown dirty and windblown but still managed to look dignified simply because it was adorning her frame.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, wanting to say more but unable to verbalize it.

“Well, that’s one way of letting go,” she said stiffly, and walked out into the yard where she began briskly picking up tree branches and tossing them into a pile at the edge of their clearing.

 ***

He didn’t try to talk while they worked. He knew she needed the time to process, to grieve, more than she needed to get out of her own head by discussing inconsequentials. But the silence was never uncomfortable, which was a phenomenon that was unique only to her and, on very rare occasions, to B’Elanna Torres.

The thought of his absent best friend made his heart patter strangely in his chest, so he pushed thoughts of the feisty half-Klingon away and concentrated instead on heaving the enormous tree limbs off of the roof of their shelter.

They cleaned, cleared, and assessed damage through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, each using their own method to clear the damage the storm had wrought on their shelter. Janeway worked methodically from the shelter outward, clearing the debris that had piled against the windows and walls, gathering the smashed bits of insect traps as she found them and placing them in a storage container for possible salvage. She separated the wood into two piles—kindling and logs—and moved back and forth between them, keeping everything as neatly stacked as possible. Chakotay began milling the wood after he had cleared the biggest branches away, cutting them into smaller logs, stacking them neatly so that there were two log piles, one on each side of the shelter. He stopped for a short time to make a kindling box for all of the branches and twigs Janeway had amassed and they spent an hour trekking back and forth from the kindling pile to the box.

 He knew that this work was, in its own way, just as disheartening to Janeway as watching him make the headboards and build shelves and furniture. Gathering and storing kindling spoke of preparing for winter (which was still five long months away) and that meant anticipating that their stay would be long enough to include a winter of log fires. It meant giving in to the inevitability of being unable to leave, a thought that he knew was rocking her to the very core of her being.

He had to give her credit though … like any task, she went at it with a will, throwing all of her energy into it. She changed out of the rose colored dress and flat shoes and into her uniform trousers, gray shell and boots to do the work, the first time he’d seen her wear them since arriving on New Earth. While he built the kindling box, she tackled her bathtub, clearing the leaves, branches and debris before scrubbing and rinsing until it shone.

 By the time the sun set, they had made some progress on the outdoor clean-up, but there was still a disappointingly large amount of work still to do. Janeway sighed and surveyed their clearing.

“We can tackle this again tomorrow, though we should do it early before the sun gets too hot.”

Chakotay nodded. “Agreed. The storm cooled it down but it’s supposed to hit the mid-80s tomorrow. I don’t want to work for too long in that, especially since neither of us is used to working outdoors in that kind of weather.” He turned to face the shelter. “Clean-up in here won’t be as bad,” he said optimistically, striving to look for the bright side to what was turning into a very trying day.

 Janeway nodded and squared her shoulders. “If you start putting the shelves back up, I’ll sweep and mop and then assess the equipment that needs repair.”

 “Let’s eat something first,” he suggested. “We have another few hours ahead and neither of us has eaten since breakfast.”

Janeway acquiesced and headed for the replicator. “What?” she asked, noticing his grin.

“You really do hate cooking, don’t you? I was going to suggest just making some sandwiches with the bread I baked yesterday.”

 She laughed, blushing a little. “I honestly didn’t think of it.” She changed directions and headed for the counter. “Even I can make sandwiches,” she said, a trifle defensively.

He laughed again and came up behind her to squeeze her shoulders. “I’m only teasing.” She relaxed just the smallest bit when he touched her and the knowledge that he had that effect on her made him smile. “We need something high energy to go with that. What about some trail mix?”

Janeway nodded vigorously. “Anything with chocolate in it sounds wonderful right now.”

“Now that I will use the replicator for … but only because I haven’t had time to figure out how to make chocolate with my own two hands yet.” He flashed her a quick grin and headed for the alcove that housed the replicator and the pantry where he began programming in the items he wanted while she made the sandwiches.

 He was hesitant to ask about her morning excursion into the woods but curiosity finally won out over dinner.

 “Did you have any luck in the woods this morning?”

 Her face brightened and she shot up from her chair. “My field kit! I’d almost forgotten!” She very nearly dove for her sleeping alcove and came back moments later, face alight, with her mercifully undamaged case in her arms. “I got a specimen of an insect I haven’t seen before. And one of my DNA sequencers is still in here!”

She pulled the sequencer out and Chakotay held his breath as she switched it on. Having a working sequencer and tricorder was going to make all the difference in her mood.

She gave a little cheer when it began to hum cheerfully. “Oh thank god! Now if I can get the computer up and running again, there might be a chance of salvaging this.”

That spot of hope (even if it seemed to him impossibly dim) gave her a new energy. She talked with him as they worked on setting the shelter to rights. He was more than happy just to listen to her chatter because it meant she wasn’t balanced on the knife edge of depression. By the time they had finished a cursory clean-up at midnight, she was acting more like herself and he credited that to the discovery of her intact field kit.

 “I’m ready for a sonic shower and bed,” Janeway admitted, looking around the shelter. “Now that repairs are done, we’ll need to do a really thorough cleaning tomorrow; I’m too tired to manage one right now.”

Chakotay nodded. “You go ahead and take a shower. Before you head to bed, I want to take care of that cut.” He motioned toward her cheek where she’d been cut by a flying cup.

Her hand rose to it. “I’d forgotten all about it. I can take care of it, Chakotay. Don’t worry.”

 “I’d like to,” he said, letting her see through the look in his eyes that he really wanted to be able to at least do one thing for her in light of all the things that day he hadn’t been able to do—save her computer, repair her equipment, find her in the woods in time to keep her out of the storm.

 She nodded, a little perplexed but willing to allow his help. “All right. Let me go get cleaned up.”

 When she came back into the kitchen a short while later, the cut on her cheek was bleeding sluggishly, reopened from washing her face. While it wasn’t particularly deep, it was long and sliced right across her cheekbone where it would pull and ache if she left it untreated.

“I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before now,” she said, shrugging. “Concentrating on work, I guess.” She sat down across from him. “Now that you pointed it out, I’ve noticed how much it hurts.”

“Thankfully it’s a quick fix.” He took the dermal regenerator out of the medkit and tested it—it, like everything else in the shelter, had been buffeted around by the storm—and indicated with a slight movement of his head that he was going to touch her face.

 He took her chin in his hand to hold her steady and gently passed the regenerator over her cheek, watching as the cut seemed to disappear under his ministrations, knowing that it was really just accelerated healing of the blood vessels and tissue in the skin that made it look as if the cut were vanishing. He studied his work for a moment then reached back into the medkit and pulled out a jar that he’d placed there several weeks earlier.

 “What’s this?” Janeway asked curiously as he opened the lid.

“A home remedy. I hate the way the dermal regenerator makes my skin feel like it’s been stretched too tight. So if the Doctor has to use it on me I’ve always followed it up with cocoa butter later in my quarters. It eases the tightness and helps the skin regain its elasticity.”

Janeway looked impressed. “I would never have known that. You’re just a fountain of knowledge, Chakotay.”

He grinned. “I pick things up here and there. Come here.” He took her chin in his hand again and gently urged her closer. With the tips of his fingers, he brushed the cocoa butter across her cheekbone, smoothing it into her skin with a light caress. She held still while he worked, her eye studying his face.

 “Thank you,” she said softly, when he’d finished.

 He resisted the impulse to linger against the warmth of her skin any longer than was strictly necessary and drew back his hand. “You’re welcome,” he replied, and hoped that his voice only sounded hoarse to his ears. “How does it feel?”

“Much better.” Her hand rose to her cheek and brushed the area where his fingers had just been. “I, um … I’m about to drop. And so are you. Why don’t you take a shower while I finish cleaning up the dinner dishes?”

He nodded and swallowed hard, fighting down the impulse to touch her face again, more lingeringly this time. He turned away and gathered his bathing items from his alcove, hoping she hadn’t noticed that he was, once again, starting to get aroused by her presence. He took as long as he could convincingly take in the shower, willing the blood to start circulating properly again. When it very stubbornly stayed exactly where it was, he put on a pair of very loose pajama pants and headed into the kitchen to lower the lights and lock up.

 Janeway was all ready in her sleeping alcove. He couldn’t see much through the screen beyond her silhouette, but he could tell she’d fallen asleep on her side, curled around a pillow. Was she pretending it was her fiancé? Someone else entirely?

He wouldn’t normally intrude on her space, but he couldn’t fight the urge to check on her one final time before retiring to bed himself. He stood in the “doorway” to her alcove, studying her. She was breathing deeply and regularly, fast asleep, clutching the pillow tightly. Her hair, loose now, spilled over her shoulder and several strands had fallen around her face. He wanted—needed—to brush her hair back, to press a kiss to her forehead, but he wouldn’t embarrass either of them by doing so.

He needed to get a hold of his emotions. He needed to stop falling in love with Kathryn Janeway. But he was sure there was as little a chance of that happening as there was of the sun refusing to rise in New Earth’s east the next morning.

***

**JANEWAY:**

  The next stretch of days cleaning and repairing the shelter and the clearing was one of the most grueling she could remember. She didn’t have a problem with physical labor—it WAS a part of living on a starship, even if it was a fairly small part—but it had been a long time since she’d done so much lifting and carrying. By the time they had reached their fifth straight day of cleaning, Janeway felt as if every muscle in her shoulders and back was singing with pain.

“I was thinking,” Chakotay called to her from his place on the roof, where he was mending tiles. “There’s plenty of wood available here. I could add a couple more rooms to the shelter, give us a little more living space.”

It was an interesting, if slightly disconcerting, thought. Adding rooms would mean he thought they’d be here for awhile, something she still wasn’t quite ready to admit was looking more and more like a possibility. On the other hand, she liked the idea of having a room of her own, one in which she could really spread out. A larger room would mean a larger bed, one that wasn’t so narrow she was afraid to roll over in the night for fear of falling off. Having a living room to sit and read in that wasn’t a part of the kitchen also had its appeal. A larger bathroom would mean she could bring her tub indoors …

“How would you mill it?” she called back obligingly.

 “I could do a certain amount with a phaser, but I was actually thinking of logs.”

 “As in log cabin?” That was an immensely amusing notion but one she might be able to live with, especially if it meant her indoor bath tub, her separate bedroom, a living room…

 “I built a few of them when I was growing up. My parents thought it was important that I learn how.”

She turned amused eyes on him to see if he was serious. He was.

 “Your parents made you build log cabins? Why in the world would they do that?”

Chakotay laughed aloud. “It does sound a little strange. You have to understand, Kathryn, what a terribly spoiled child I was, how deeply engrained my bad attitude was in me, how very unappreciative I was of what my parents wanted to teach me. I hated living in a traditional settlement. I couldn’t stand that my parents were trying to teach me traditions that were ancient and preposterous. I was selfish and rude and they tried to discipline me the best way that they could that was in keeping with the values they wanted me to learn, and for awhile manual labor was the route they took.”

Janeway shook her head. “I just can’t imagine you that way, Chakotay. You’re so kind-hearted, so connected to your ancestral ways.”

“It took my father dying to really make me appreciate what he had tried to give me. That was when I embraced it. As a teenager I was angry, bitter, and hostile. You’d never have recognized me then.”

Janeway thought back to her own childhood and chuckled. “When I was young my parents took us on backpacking trips. They thought we should all keep a connection to our ‘pioneer roots.’ I hated it! No bed, no replicator …”

“No bath tub,” Chakotay chimed in with a grin.

“No bath tub,” she agreed, laughing. “I guess I was always a child of the 24th century.” She heaved another tree branch into the growing pile at the edge of the clearing, stretched, and took a gulp from her water bottle.

“Well,” Chakotay said thoughtfully, measuring out a ceiling tile, “maybe those camping trips helped prepare you for life here.”

“Oh no,” she replied. “Life here is much better than that.” She drew up short, surprised at what had come out her mouth.

Chakotay looked just as surprised, but pleased as well. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say anything positive about being here.”

A familiar shrill yell sounded from the side yard, keeping Janeway from having to either answer Chakotay or think about her own attitude. She spun eagerly and found the monkey standing on a rock.

“Well, hello there. I haven’t seen you in awhile. Where have you been?”

She heard the soft thud of Chakotay climbing down from the roof and approaching the monkey along with her.

“Do you expect him to answer you?” he asked. She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Not really. I just sense intelligence in him. And I could swear he came to warn me about the plasma storm.” She held an outstretched hand toward the monkey. “C’mere, fellow. Come on!”

The monkey, predictably, wouldn’t come at her bidding and she eventually dropped her hand.

“I doubt that he could be domesticated, at least not very easily,” Chakotay whispered.

“Well, we have plenty of time,” Janeway replied, then sobered at the next thought. “The rest of our lives.”

“That’s a long time.”

The enormity of that thought, the reality of decades stretching before them, hung there, crackling, making the air fraught with tension. Chakotay, thankfully, broke it by proclaiming, “… at least I hope so.” He held up crossed fingers solemnly and Janeway couldn’t help but laugh. He did, too, and the tension eased.

“Well,” she said, lightly laying a hand on his knee. “I can’t give you orders anymore but I suggest we get back to work.”

He sprang to his feet, as lightly and easily as a jungle cat. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

She watched him as he leapt back up onto the cargo container he was using as a makeshift step ladder and began working once more on the roof. As far as companions to be stranded with went, Chakotay was certainly a better choice than most. Her stomach fluttered as if full to the brim with butterflies as she watched him work, noticing for the hundredth time his strong and capable hands, his handsome face.

It was getting very hard to resist falling happily in lust—or was it something more than lust?-- with her first officer.

*** 

She really wasn’t used to physical labor. Not on a continual basis and not a scale this large. She hated admitting it because starship captains, of course, were never supposed to show weakness or pain. But so many days of heaving and hauling branches, cuttinglogs, filling kindling boxes, making repairs to everything that had been storm damaged was more than enough to make every muscle in her body scream for mercy. She’d been dealing with the pain in the best way she knew how, bringing ice packs to bed with her, popping analgesic pain pills, drinking soothing cups of tea. She did all of this after Chakotay was asleep so that he wouldn’t worry about her.

Tonight, though, she had about reached her limit … and sitting at their little table trying to repair her spare DNA sequencer and the computer console wasn’t helping the ache in her shoulders. She rubbed her left shoulder with her right hand, trying in vain to work out the horrible knot the size of an orange that had lodged itself in her shoulder and was tenaciously hanging on despite alternating ice and heat packs. Without meaning to, she groaned softly.

Chakotay glanced at her with an inquisitive smile.

“I guess I’m not used to that kind of work,” she explained lamely. “My knots are getting knots.” She rubbed at her shoulder again and tried to refocus on her work.

“Here, let me help,” Chakotay said, rising from his seat and coming around behind her chair. His hands settled on her shoulders, warm and heavy, and lay there long enough to clearly telegraph his intentions, allowing her to say no if she wanted to keep the boundaries between them intact. When she didn’t say anything, he gathered her long hair and pushed it over her shoulder, out of the way.

The first few kneading strokes of his powerful hands hurt. She tensed without meaning to and groaned a little in pain. He responded by relaxing his grip, easing the pressure, using just his palms to slide up and down her shoulders in soothing strokes. When he felt the tension draining out of her and sensed that the pain had passed, he began to knead her shoulders again, lightly this time, combining that healing pressure with gentle strokes from his wide palms until she was practically melting under his hands.

 “Oh, that feels good,” she sighed rapturously, letting her eyes close.

“I’ve had a lot of practice at this,” she heard him murmur, his voice lower and slightly huskier than normal. “My mother used to get sore necks all the time. I was the only one she’d trust not to make it worse.” He dug in harder with his fingers now that she had loosened up and began working on the troublesome knot in her shoulder.

He was good, amazingly good. Better than anyone she’d ever seen for her chronic headaches and tension. Better, even, than Mark, who had always been willing to rub her neck and shoulders after a long and trying day, no matter how tired or tense he was. Chakotay was in a different playing field all together.    

He seemed to know instinctively where the worst of the pain was at, which was surprising but not unwelcome. Maybe she was telegraphing it clearly with her body language, or maybe he was just incredibly prescient at sensing the tortured tissue under his sensitive fingers. Whatever skill it was, he used it like a scent dog uses pheromones, locating the worst of the knots and easing them out with his hands. He used pressure where it was needed, soft, hypnotic strokes where it wasn’t, and the most appealingly tender touch to soothe.

His hands moved from her shoulders and swept along the back of her neck and the line of her throat. His thumbs prodded at the base of her skull, pressing, releasing the bands of tension that had settled there.

It took every bit of self control she had not to moan in ecstasy as he continued to work her with those amazing hands. Even when she thought she had herself under control, she still wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t, at some point, simply murmur his name the same way she would if they were in bed together. The thought of him running his hands over her entire body nearly caused her to short-circuit.

“Kathryn,” he whispered, and she knew instinctively that she’d just heard HIS bedroom murmur.

It was the kiss that shook her to the core. It wasn’t a kiss to her lips, nor to her neck, though she would certainly have welcomed either at that point. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. It was an innocent gesture but somehow just as erotic as those other kisses would have been.

With deep regret but the knowledge that she had to stop what has happening and had to stop it NOW, she pulled away. He let his hands drop to his sides and she missed them immediately. She didn’t have to look at him to know that he was half-hard; she was aroused, too, frankly, and wasn’t going to hold that against him.

“That …”

A slew of words filled her brain, all of them crowding toward her lips. “Was amazing… was a hell of a turn on …was making me so wet … was driving me crazy … was making me fall in love with you …”

“That’s much better, thank you.” Rather than let the awkward silence linger she said, “I’m … going to go to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was having a difficult time forming words, too. She could see it. He swallowed hard and finally managed, “Sleep well, Kathryn.”

Not a chance. Not thinking about that. Not thinking about him. She knew she would lie awake for hours, fighting the impulse to take a little detour into his sleeping alcove and curl up against his strong chest.

“Yes. You too.”

She made herself walk away, climb into her too narrow bed. The covers were too warm and heavy on her and she pushed them back. Her face was too hot … hell, her body was too hot under her ridiculously modest pajamas … how she missed wearing her slinky, silky nightgown! … and she pushed the covers off of her all the way. She could see him sitting at the table in the kitchen if she only turned her head and she knew just from his silhouette that he was as rattled as she was.

She lay there, fighting an internal battle for the better part of half an hour, part of her wanting to go out to him, the other ordering her to stay right where she was. Finally—to hell with it!—she climbed out of bed, brushed her hair, straightened her pajamas, and walked back into the kitchen.

He was working on some of his metal work, but the look on his face told her he wasn’t really attending to his project.

 “We have to talk about this,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“All right,” he replied, setting aside the block of metal.

 “I think …” She tried to choose her words carefully and finally settled on, “we need to define some parameters. About us.”

She could have kicked herself then, because that was quite obviously Captain Janeway speaking and she didn’t want him to think she was looking at their current issue so critically and clinically.

Chakotay smiled a little—he knew that her captainly side had taken over and was obviously amused by it—and said, “I’m not sure that I can define parameters.” He studied his hands then said, abruptly, “But I can tell you a story, an ancient legend among my people.”

Which he seemed to have for every situation they were in. She nodded, waited.

“It’s about an angry warrior who lived his life in conflict with the rest of his tribe, a man who couldn’t find peace, even with the help of his spirit guide. For years he struggled with his discontent, but the only satisfaction he ever got came when he was in battle. This made him a hero among his tribe, but the warrior still longed for peace within himself. One day he and his war party were captured by a neighboring tribe, led by a woman warrior. She called on him to join her, because her tribe was too small and weak to defend itself from all of its enemies. The woman warrior was brave, and beautiful, and very wise. The angry warrior swore to himself that he would stay by her side, doing whatever he could to make her burden lighter. From that point on her needs would come first. And in that way, the warrior began to know the true meaning of peace.”

She didn’t know when in his tale she realized that he was talking about the two of them, but by the end of it, by the time he had revealed his devotion to her, she was caught somewhere between smiling and crying, so touched by his words that she couldn’t have held back the tears if she wanted to.

“Is there really an ancient legend?” she asked, which was possibly the most ridiculous question she could have posed.

He understood why she asked it, though, and grinned. “No.” But he sobered quickly and, looking deeply into her eyes, added, “But that made it easier to say.”

She reached for his hand, the first time she’d taken the initiative to do so, and interlaced her fingers with his. His smile was bright enough to rival a supernova as he traced his thumb over hers.

They could have left it there—should have left it there—but the woman in her won out over the captain and she leaned over the table and kissed him.

If he was surprised by the gesture, he didn’t show it. Instead he laid his free hand on the side of her face and returned the kiss, so deeply, so sweetly that she couldn’t stop herself from shuddering with desire. His hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head, and pulled her closer to him so he could deepen the kiss.

The table was in the way. She broke the kiss just long enough to get out of her chair, come around to his side of the table, and sink down onto his lap before leaning forward to recapture his mouth with hers.

His hands came to rest on the small of her back, urging her to press her body against his. She gave in to the gentle pressure and let herself lean into him, hands on his chest.

 “Kathryn,” he whispered, and it WAS his bedroom murmur, the same way she’d heard him whisper when he’d been massaging her shoulders. Or maybe it was just the way he had of saying her name, with a caress in his voice that indicated the depth of his feelings for her. She whispered his name back, a little hesitant, but increasingly less so as they continued kissing each other.

He broke the kiss and they rested forehead to forehead, his hands on her back, hers on his chest.

“One problem,” he said, his voice husky.

“What’s that?” she asked, her stomach filling with butterflies that he might end the encounter before it had even begun.

“Our beds are entirely too narrow to make this comfortable.”

She burst out laughing when she realized he was exactly right. He started laughing, too, and pulled her close, giving her a warm and affectionate squeeze.

“Well,” she said, pulling back to look at his amused eyes, sure that her own eyes were dancing. “We can push the beds together and tie the legs with rope.”

He grinned. “This is why you’re the captain. You can figure out things like that.”

“Do we have rope?”

 “I can replicate some.”

“Make it so,” she said, mock seriously. “I’ll move the beds.”

 “No, I don’t want you straining your shoulders any more than they all ready are. Replicating rope and a larger set of sheets are your tasks. Maybe some strawberries and champagne.”

“If you’re joking about the champagne, you’d better tell me. I will do it.”

“I think we deserve to indulge.” He headed for their sleeping alcoves and began moving the beds around. “But make it snappy, Madame Captain, because I can’t wait much longer to put my hands on you.”

She made it snappy, replicating sturdy rope to tie the legs of their beds together, a fix that he assured her was on temporary—he’d attach the beds together with screws the next morning. She wanted to suggest he just make a much larger bed, one they could really move around on, but decided she wasn’t quite ready to be that forward yet. She also replicated a set of very soft queen sized sheets … together the two beds were just about the size of her old bed back on Voyager … and then, because he was right and they DID deserve to indulge, she replicated them glasses of champagne with ripe strawberries.

She started to put the sheets on the bed when Chakotay’s hands came to rest on her shoulders to still her.

“I heard a rumor,” he said quietly, “back when we were living on board the ship. I heard that you had an incredibly sexy silk nightgown.”

She turned to face him, grinning. “Do I want to know where you heard this rumor?”

Chakotay grinned too. “The source of all rumors, gossip, and scandal … Tom Paris.” He laughed. “I wondered at the time if he had some first-hand knowledge of your nightwear …”

Janeway found herself caught between amusement and incredulity. “Surely you didn’t really think Tom and I …?”

“Of course I didn’t … I just assumed he’d installed some sort of spy camera in everyone’s quarters.”

She laughed. “For all I know, he did!” With a flirtatious smile, she said, “Was there something you wanted to ask about my nightgown? The rumors were right … it is silk.”

 “Do you have it with you?” he asked, a hand coming up to touch her face. “Will you wear it for me?”

She raised an eyebrow and, looking right into his eyes, grinningly challenged, “Are you sure you can handle me wearing it?”

His eyes went dark with desire. “I won’t be able to handle you NOT wearing it.” He dropped his hand to the back of her neck, pulled her closer, and kissed her heatedly. “If you have it, Kathryn, please go put it on,” he murmured against her mouth.

When she came back from the bathroom, a robe on over her nightgown, a hint of perfume on her wrists and the pulse point of her throat, it was to find their individual sleeping alcoves transformed into one room. They now had one big bed that was neatly made with soft new sheets and had blankets from both their alcoves draped at its foot. There was a small bedside table and a lamp on each side of the bed … a glass of champagne with strawberries rested on each table. He’d folded the privacy screens and moved them against the wall. The chests containing their clothing and personal mementos were stacked neatly, ready to be put in their proper places the next day.

“I thought I’d do some rearranging,” he said, glancing at her and obviously wondering if he’d taken too big a step.

 She smiled to reassure him and teased, “Better you than me.” She indicated the bed. “Which side do you prefer?”

 “Being with the Maquis taught me that it doesn’t do to be too picky about where you sleep, so I don’t really have a preference. You choose.”

She picked the right side of the bed—that had always been her side and she was ridiculously pleased not to have to give it up. She placed her hairbrush on her night table and smiled her thanks when Chakotay handed her the glass of champagne.

“To us,” he said simply, bringing his glass to hers and sipping. Then he grinned naughtily and said, “And, because my mind clearly only has one track at the moment, to this sexy nightgown of yours.”

At the gentle prompting, she untied her robe and slowly slid it off her shoulders, letting it pool to the ground at her feet, never taking her gaze from his face … and was rewarded with his look of intense hunger as he gazed at her in the very revealing slip of pink silk that hugged every curve and left nothing at all to the imagination.

            “My god, Kathryn,” he breathed. He set down his champagne glass and came around the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached to touch her and his fingers reverently traced her collarbone and down her arm, a light, fleeting caress. “It’s never escaped my notice that you’re beautiful but seeing you like this …” His eyes were hot with desire. “May I kiss you?”

She was deeply touched that he asked, especially when he was in such an obvious state of intense arousal. She knew why he had though … the time between the kiss in the kitchen and where they were now might have been enough to bring her back to “captain” mode. He wanted to be sure of her before launching them both back into uncharted territory.

She reassured him, and herself, by placing her hands on his chest, a gesture so familiar to them both by now that it was almost a comfort, rather than a turn on, and turning his mouth up to his.

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

_“If the walls had eyes, they would see the love inside. They would see me in your arms in ecstasy and with every move they’d know I love you so.”_     

  END


End file.
